Chasing Pigeons
by ArtisticAuthor
Summary: The history books never mentioned that Steve Rogers had an adopted sister. But then, the history books also failed to mention that women with wings could exist.
1. Unexpected Meetings

**Guess what's finally up! Hell yeah, first chapter. I hope everyone who reads it enjoys it and I'd love some feedback if any can take the time out to give it. Please ensure it is constructive:) Now, to dispel some stuff before we begin, there will be no romance between any of the Marvel characters and my OC (although there may be teasing and stupid flirting but that most likely won't happen until much, much later). Also, I apologise in advance but the first couple of chapters may appear a bit slow because: a)I'm going away for a 10 day long camp starting tomorrow so, obviously, I won't be able write anything until I get back, and b) no actual Marvel characters will be introduced until a couple of chapters in (may be longer but that's the estimate for now).**

**Happy reading and I hope you enjoy:D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from Marvel**

"Get out of 'ere ya screwed up old ass!"

Seamus gave an indifferent snort. That had almost been pleasant. Turning his head with stiff muscles, the older man regarded the shrieking younger gentlemen. He wasn't much to look at, a slightly pudgy face with a smattering of freckles, dressed in raunchy grey overalls with a stained button up underneath. The tawny-haired woman on his arm sniggered.

"Last time I checked this was a free country, and I'd watch your tongue young man, it may bring you more trouble than you'd care for" he rumbled.

For a couple of moments the man looked shocked, as though he had never received such a reply in his life. Seamus could practically see the gears turning in his head. Unfazed, the older man shot a polite smile up to the couple from his seat on the hard sidewalk.

"What did ya say to me?"

This man's voice was really starting to grate on his frayed nerves.

"Are you deaf young man? If so I'd highly recommend getting out of the street on a day like this, winters almost upon us you know? Wouldn't do for you to get an ear infection now."

Satisfied with the stupefied look on the man's dumb face, Seamus heaved himself to his feet and turned to shamble further down the street. A couple of curious onlookers hastened to avert their eyes. The cruel voice of the woman floated after him down the road.

"Don't bother with him, he's shell-shocked remember, he's lost it."

Shell-Shocked Seamus. That was the name the people of Brooklyn had given him 9 years ago. The same people who avoided his eye in the streets. Whose children were warned to flee if he came near. He heard the words the mothers would whisper to them as he passed.

"Don't go near that man, he's the kind to snap and kill a child."

"Don't goad him on, just keep away from him."

"If he ever approaches you, you head straight for the first shop or open area you can find, understand?"

The precious children weren't much better.

"Look, over there, it's crazy, old Shell-Shocked Seamus."

"Ya think he saw us?"

"I heard Suzie tried to say hello to him once and he snarled at her like a rabid dog."

That one made him chuckle. It seemed the children and the adults had all fallen into the same beliefs. That the Great War veteran Seamus, was totally and undoubtedly insane. So this was the prize for the men whom survived the battlefields. Not for the first time in his life, and definitely not for the last, he found himself wondering why he had ever left Britain.

As the sun drooped lower in the sky, the streets started to build with the nightlife. Bars and restaurants began to stir with the aromas of roasting meat and crisp liquor, the jungle of concrete and glass bathed in the mottled golds and yellows of the afternoon light. Soon the paths would flood with people, socialites and minorities alike, looking for a fun time out on the town. Seamus knew the schedule well, it wouldn't be until night had settled completely and the street lamps were lit that the first drunkards would emerge from the bars. They were easy enough to avoid, as long as he slept concealed from their buzzed aggression. The back alleys usually worked nicely, and if any did approach well he had 67 years' experience and a sharpened blade under his coat.

Tonight called for a well hidden area however, with more than one entrance in case a quick escape was needed. Saturday nights tended to get rough with the thieves and scum of the city leaving their dens to prey upon the oblivious rich folk out for a dance and a drink. Few were above mugging an elderly war vet. The alleys and loading zones behind 'The Roosevelt Grill' would serve him well, the dark, enclosed space would most likely hold a number of empty crates and boxes ready to be picked up on Monday, adequate shelter if the weather turned sour.

It wasn't too far a walk either, only taking him around 15 minutes at his shambling gait, cutting through shortcuts, to reach the entrance to the diner's alleyway. The musty smell of damp concrete and spilled beer permeated the dank alley air, punctuated by the fresher scents wafting from the kitchens nearby. Seamus briefly pondered whether or not he could risk raiding the bins outside the doors in the back, busy nights tended to cause leftovers. He shook off the idea, he had scrounged about all day and his aging legs ached from the strain. Besides, he had enough scavenged food stored in the deep pockets of his trench coat to last today and tomorrow and there was no point risking a stir amongst the restaurant staff.

It was darker amongst the stacks of worn crates, this barely hindered the man however, who barely made a sound as he wove amongst the wooden stacks coming to a stop against one of the far walls. The boxes were stacked in such a way here that they formed a small, covered 'cubby', with just enough room for his hefty bulk.

Reaching into one of the many pockets of his grubby coat, Seamus pulled a filthy and worn blanket, tightly rolled into a small bundle. He briskly unfurled it, cursing under his breath as the sudden movement made his shoulders and arms ache.

"Bloody old bones" he grumbled as he settled the thin fabric beneath the shelter of the crates.

Seamus was just preparing to crawl into the space when a peculiar sound caught his attention. A high-pitched keen that broke and wobbled towards the end.

Turning, the man scanned the area with trained eyes, seeking out the cause of the pitiful sound. Nothing stirred. For a brief moment the veteran wondered if he had imagined it, then the sound reached his ears again.

The tiniest of movements caught his attention from a dark crevice between a couple of mouldy-looking boxes. Slowly, on creaking old bones, he moved closer to the space. The whimpers abruptly cut off and the sound of faint yet desperate scrabbling reached his ears. Steeling himself, he leaned forward and peered into the gloom, poised for a dirty rat to come pelting out at him.

A child.

She was tiny, huddled in a tight ball as far back in the crevice as she could manage. Seamus went still as terrified eyes fastened on him, the weak light glinting off wide, dark orbs. A sheen of unshed tears was welling, preparing to spill down the damp tracks previous ones had already made.

The veteran immediately knelt down on his knees, hunching his shoulders to make himself appear smaller, the aches that had resonated there now forgotten.

"Hey, hey there little one, are you alright?" Seamus kept his voice quiet and carefully neutral. The girl shied away as though he had struck her.

"It's alright, it's alright, I won't hurt you" her breathing spiked and her tiny chest worked like bellows stoking a dying fire.

Seamus winced. He had seen and dealt with symptoms similar to this in fellow soldiers. Trauma, terror, shell-shock. Panic. The tiny creature was panicking. Seamus backed off a couple of feet, a tactic that had been common down in the trenches. If he couldn't ground his fellow man down in those forsaken pits then he could give them the room they needed to release what they held. He hoped this would work with a 5 year old.

She couldn't be older than that he thought as the pitiful sounds of her erratic breaths slowed to the quiet, whimpering keen he had heard earlier. This girl was terrified and he needed to take her mind off of that terror quickly.

Moving towards the crevice again, Seamus pulled a bruised, red apple from one of his many coat pockets.

"It's alright" he cooed, "It's alright, are you hungry? Why not come out and eat with me?"

A soft rustling sound announced the girl's movements, slowly, very slowly, the child's tiny form appeared from the dark into the soft light of the afternoon.

Seamus furrowed his brow, mouth pulling down in disgust. She was scraped and bruised all over, dressed in only a thin, white hospital gown. Her right hand and part of her arm was caked in a hard crust of dried blood, a small but deep gash still lazily dribbled blood from her palm. The child stopped at the entrance to her sheltered hide-away, pulling aside her tangled white-blonde hair to fasten wide eyes upon him. She crouched with her body tensed, prepared at any threatening move on his part to dart back into the gloom.

Seamus smiled gently at her, moving at an achingly slow pace into a cross-legged sitting position. Her watchful gaze never strayed.

"Here, would you like to share this with me?"

The child flinched away, recoiling partially back into the dark. Seamus hastened to lower his voice even further, until his heavy baritone was nothing but a whisper.

"Hey, hey now, it's alright, it's alright, I promise I won't hurt you."

The girl inched back fully into the light, shoulders trembling, her bloodied hand pressed protectively to her side. Keeping his movements slow and controlled, Seamus brought the fruit to his mouth and bit off a small chunk, keeping it between his teeth to prevent his spit from touching it. Taking the piece from his teeth, the older man extended his hand, with the chunk of apple, to her. She immediately began to flee back into the crevice. Thinking quickly, Seamus began to hum.

It was an old song, one his mother had sung to him when he was a child. He had long ago forgotten most of the words, the tune, however, would always stay with him. He stayed his hand and pointedly remained still as the soft, musical rumble echoed throughout the alleyway.

Hearing the melody, the child paused, making a cautious turn to look back at him, then began inching out once more. Sniffling quietly, she stopped and knelt on the stone floor, small hands clasping at the stained fabric of her gown. Seamus continued to hum, smiling warmly at the young girl and slowly beginning to move his hand again. She didn't flee however, though she trembled as though she were almost frozen, the little thing stood her ground and he couldn't help smiling at that.

Hesitantly, she stretched her left hand forward, her uninjured one, and reached for the piece of fruit held lightly in his much larger, calloused palm. Faster than he expected, she lunged forward and snatched the apple piece from his hand, he had to force himself not to react with too much haste. The girl shrank back again but paused at the entrance to her crevice, stopping to pin him again with those large eyes.

Smiling at this, Seamus lent back against the opposite wall, making himself comfortable and taking another bite of apple, chewing and swallowing this for himself. Leaning his head back to look to the pinkish-grey sky, he pondered over the oddity the child presented. She was so young, she should still have been with her parents, but there was no one around and the several other side alleys and entrances springing off the loading area meant that she could have come from anywhere. Then there was the fact that she was hurt and so afraid. His lips turned down in a frown. Something terrible must have happened for a child to be this terrified, not to mention cold and alone in a filthy back alley. Seamus found himself wondering where the girl's parents were, or if she even had parents at all.

Glancing down, he noticed the subject of his musings was now staring intently at the piece of fruit clutched in her hand, appearing mesmerised as she watched the juice from the white flesh dribble in slow streams across her palm and down her fingers. Cocking an eyebrow at this, Seamus straightened himself, causing her to jump and fasten all of her wary attention back on him. Slowly, he raised the half eaten apple back to his lips and bit off another chunk with a soft crunch, watching the girls' face intently. She tilted her head, apparently confused by his actions, then raised the apple to her lips and nibbled on the edge.

Her glassy gaze lit at once with a spark of surprise and she snapped her eyes up to meet his for the first time, the dying sunlight igniting the dark orbs with vivid splashes of golden-orange. He wished he could have looked at those unusual colours longer, but the child was off in an explosion of movement. Squeaking and babbling in excitement, the girl leapt to her feet, bouncing happily on the spot whilst inhaling the remainder of the fruit. Seamus watched this with wide eyes before huffing in disbelief.

"You're a strange little thing, want some more?"

He hastened to bite off another piece and had no sooner held it out to her than she had seized it and that too disappeared within seconds. He repeated this several times, with each piece the girls' trembling lessened and she ventured closer. Finally, she sat on her knees barely a foot from him, curious gaze on him expectantly.

"Sorry" he mumbled around his own mouthful, holding up the fruits' core as he spoke, "that's all there is."

She stared at him for a couple of moments, beginning to keen again in the extended silence. Seamus opened his mouth to try and explain but froze as the lilt of the child's fussing reached his ears. The song he had hummed earlier. She was imitating the melody of the song. It was distorted and high pitched, but there was no mistaking the soft rise and fall of the tune. The veteran closed his mouth, cracked lips tilting up in a crooked smile. He began to hum along in his own deep tone, eliciting another excited squeal from the little girl. He continued until the song finished, the girl listening in rapt attention throughout its length.

In the silence that followed, he noticed the chill that had crept through the alley. The worst of the winter cold had already passed, March had long since arrived but that didn't prevent a noticeable coolness from permeating when the sun went down. The child must have noticed as well because a shiver traveled up her body, the fabric bunched between her shoulders quivering softly in the brisk air. Seamus narrowed his eyes with thought, the bunched up folds of material looked all wrong, lumped and awkward across her shoulder blades. He jumped in surprise when it began to twitch and shift rapidly beneath the thin gown, eyes widening as something beneath fought to escape.

Seamus leant forward, beginning to hum again so the girl knew he was still there. She watched him carefully as he approached, stretching out a hand and delicately laying it on one of her bony shoulders. She turned her head awkwardly to look at it, even sniffing at it lightly before deeming it unthreatening and turning her large eyes back to him. The veteran was relieved to see that all traces of fear had fled from them.

"Don't be afraid, I'm just going to fix up your clothes, and maybe clean up that cut of yours, if you'll let me."

Her only response was to tilt her head in bewilderment. Seamus smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way and gently moved his finger to the bunched up material. The girl flinched but stopped herself before she could pull away too far, he barked out a small laugh when the girl looked at him with one of the most potent expressions of determination the old veteran had seen on a five year old. He began to move his hand again, noting how the child shivered only for a brief moment, before steeling herself and allowing his large hand to rest between her shoulders.

Seamus went very still. There was something beneath the fabric. Something warm, flesh and bone, too oddly shaped to be her shoulder blades. Something alive. He jerked in surprise at a sudden bout of movement under his palm, whatever was beneath was tangled in the gown. Swallowing hard, the man carefully pinched the fabric and began to pull it out, slowing when the girl whimpered. The folds gave with a couple precise tugs and, careful of the object beneath, Seamus straightened out the airy material. It was so long it was practically a dress on the scrawny child.

"There we go, isn't that better? Now what on Earth is this?" his words petered out as the girl babbled in happiness and stretched out the limbs that had been tangled on her shoulders. In all his years, growing up in the British countryside, fighting in the Great War, living homeless out on the streets of America, nothing could have prepared him for this.

Wings. Well, what would possibly, one day, be wings. They were short and stubby, covered in soft-looking grey down and a couple of tiny, crumpled feathers. She squeaked at him, mouth pulled into a huge, childish grin and flapped her underdeveloped limbs eagerly. For a brief minute, all he could do was stare in shock. The tiny blonde didn't seem to mind at all, pushing herself to stand on shaking legs. Seamus moved his left hand on instinct, preparing to offer support if she needed it and clucked in surprise when she lunged to grab his arm. Cooing in content, she nuzzled her head into the crook of his arm, the veteran could feel her breath evening out as she relaxed sleepily against him.

"Ok," he mumbled to himself, taking the moment to give a thick swallow, "alright, can you talk? Do you even understand what I am saying to you?"

She laughed and extended her little wings to him again. Seamus was torn between the urge to touch them and the urge to clean the gash on her hand. Shaking his head, he opted for the latter. Pushing the confused girl into a standing position and gesturing for her to wait, he fished around inside a couple of his pockets. He clicked his tongue when he found what he was looking for, pulling out a grubby, once white handkerchief and a half full bottle of water. Working as gently as he could, he began to clean the wound. As he progressed he talked to the girl, who barely struggled but watched the process with keen interest, whimpering every now and then when he brushed the irritable flesh. He tried not to stare when, with each noise of discomfort, her wings would twitch around.

"I can't keep calling you 'little one' or 'girl', so do you have a name?"

She blinked at him and giggled. Seamus sighed. He spent a couple of minutes scrubbing at the dried blood, the girl endlessly jabbering at him as the cloth stained pink.

"Not that you can understand me, but the fact that you can't talk is very worrying" Seamus finished cleaning the cut and pulled a small role of bandage from one of his inner pockets. Still muttering under his breath, he wrapped the girl's tiny hand, years of practice coming back to him in smooth muscle memory. The injury was soon encased in a firm wrap.

He leaned back with a low groan as she examined the new thing on her hand, watching as she delicately touched the dressing, tracing curious fingers across the curves of the gauze. She finally seemed satisfied and let her hand drop, wings fluttering softly against her back. Seamus narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, stretching his arms to her. The girl beamed and moved into them.

"Where are your parents little one?" He lifted her into his lap as he spoke, looking her in the eye to try and tell her this particular question was urgent. His heart sank a little when she simply tilted her head, eyes curious but lacking any form of understanding.

"Well, if your parents are looking for you I don't really think they would be happy to see you with a crazy old man" he leant back against a crate, huffing as the oblivious girl scrambled to flop on his belly, hugging his left arm tightly. She twittered to him as she lifted and peeked into one of his coat pockets, possibly expecting him to understand. He didn't.

"I'm assuming you don't know then."

The girl yawned in reply, curling up on his middle with her head on his chest and her bandaged hand tucked close to her face. A couple of minutes later she had fallen asleep.

Seamus watched her for a few moments, mind overloaded with disbelief. For the first time in years, he found himself unsure what to do next. He could hand her into the authorities, they could probably find her parents. He had to wonder though, if the state he had found her in was anything to go by, what her parents were like or if she even had parents at all. Then, of course, there was the wings. He couldn't even begin to fathom who, or what, could have given birth to a child like this.

The veteran glanced down when the subject of his musings shifted, fisting a handful of his weathered, grey trench coat in her uninjured hand and sighing as she descended into deeper sleep. His face shifted into a small, sad smile. She reminded him of his own children. The ones he had lost so long ago.

Squinting down at the sleeping girl, he made a decision. He would listen around, search for any parents with a missing child of her description and if nothing came up, he would ensure she was raised right. That sounded like a reasonable decision, and he dutifully ignored the deep feeling of dread rearing in his gut.

Smiling softly at the warm little form and shifting his coat so she was covered, he leant back and closed his eyes. The surrounding sound of the bustling city continued unhindered around him but for once it didn't serve to remind him how isolated he was. For once it was a comforting background theme to what would quite possibly be a whole new adventure. Sleep came quickly for Seamus that night, but not before he murmured one last thing.

"I think I'll call you Annamarie."


	2. The First Adventure

**Hello everyone! I'm still alive:D Sorry for how long this chapter took, but I've been extremely busy as I have just started year 12. As a result I've been quite bogged down with heaps of work and assignments and haven't been able to write or draw as much as I'd wish:( But I did finally finish this chapter, which was quite a challenge. Thank you to all the people who commented, followed and favourited this story, I never expected this much attention, especially from the first chapter so thank you so, so much^_^ Anyway, on with chapter 2, in the chapters following this (which will hopefully be out much sooner than this one was) I will begin to bring in actual Marvel characters so prepare:U**

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing from Marvel, just my own characters (Anna, Seamus and Thomas)**

The next week passed at an achingly slow pace.

Seamus found that his frazzled mind was even more on edge than usual. In the streets, the normal wary stares of the people transformed into expressions of disbelief, confusion and disgust as he would pass, Annamarie clinging to his much larger hand as though it were a lifeline. Though he tried to steer them clear of the more hectic areas of Brooklyn, not only to minimize the suspicion of the public, but to give Annamarie a chance to grow accustomed to the sights, scents and sounds of the city at large, she often found it difficult at first to comprehend the sheer enormity of the world around her.

The morning after his unexpected discovery, Seamus woke to the warm, heavy weight of the sleeping child on his middle. Her breaths were soft and light, a stark contrast to the harsh, husky bellows of his own lungs. The veteran groaned as he forced himself up into a reclining position leaning back on his arms, careful not to let the child fall. Annamarie stirred with a small snort, grabbing at the tough fabric of his coat and whining in protest. Seamus huffed in amusement.

"Come on," he said gruffly, "time to wake up."

She whimpered and nuzzled her blonde head against his chest, beginning to hum in content. He huffed again, but couldn't quite stop the smile that twitched at his scarred lips.

"Yeah, yeah, up you get, you can sleep when you're dead."

With that he hefted her up by her arms, eliciting a shrill, delighted squeal, and stood her easily on her feet. She immediately crumpled to the floor against his leg, squeaking and whining at him indignantly. He wasn't worried about the amount of noise she was making, the restaurant staff didn't start work until midday, and it was too early on a Sunday for many people to be out. His attention was drawn back to little girl as she flailed against him, giggling at an ant that had crawled on to her bandages. Seamus frowned in thought, at least she didn't seem to be afraid of everything, though an ant wasn't a large accomplishment by any standard. He watched as the small girl rolled to lie on her back, her face immediately twisting in discomfort and she shifted again to lie on her stomach. Against her shoulder blades, the short, downy wings stretched and opened to their meager extent, ratty baby feathers stretching feebly towards the sky. Once again, Seamus found himself caught between disbelief and nausea. The limbs extended as far as she could stretch them, so far that the tips trembled, underdeveloped muscles spasming with the strain, before they snapped back to fold neatly against her back.

"This is gonna take some getting used to" he grumbled under his breath. Annamarie made a strange noise that he took as a gesture of agreement.

"Welp, we ain't gonna get much done sitting 'ere all day," he heaved himself to his feet with a loud groan, "come on, we're movin' out."

She tilted her head up at him and smiled from where she sat on the hard concrete, knees pulled to her chest. He regarded her for a moment, then sighed.

"This would be so much simpler if you actually understood me," she twittered at him, "or understood anything for that matter."

He ambled back to the spot he had placed his blanket the evening before, the torn old afghan lay despondent beneath the shelter of crates. He hastened to fold it down as compact as possible, shoving it into one of his inner pockets as he turned back to Annamarie, who had scrambled to her feet to follow him.

"I think first we need to raid some donation boxes, get you some real clothes, and you need something to cover those wings of yours, maybe we can find a shawl or-" he fell silent as his gaze fell back on her.

Annamarie had stopped dead. Her scrawny body was quivering as though she had just been pulled from a snow drift. She whimpered and suddenly Seamus was keenly aware of the sweet, confronting scent of urnine permeating the air. She had wet herself. The aged veteran didn't entirely know how to react. He knew that accidents like these were to be expected of children, that wasn't worrisome. It was the fact that the tiny child was shuddering with terror, eyes wide and panic-stricken as they snapped around her, searching desperately for an answer she wouldn't understand. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed in distress, fat tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. The old instinctual urges from decades past surged inside him and he moved into action without thinking.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, its just an accident see?" he carefully approached her, leaning down to crouch on one knee as he stroked her head, she latched her arms around his neck, pressing her damp face into the crook of his neck and crying wretchedly. He patiently continued his soothing rumble, "Anna, come on listen to me, we'll get you all cleaned up with some warm clothes then we'll see if we can't get something to eat."

She sniffled pitifully against his chest.

"Sound good?"

He was shocked when he felt her still, then slowly, hesitantly, as if she didn't really know if it was the correct thing to do, she nodded.

—

If anything Seamus was a man of his word.

It took them longer than he would have liked to find a donation box that wasn't placed in plain view of the bustling public. After helping Anna to clean herself up, which was awkward and required him to do it whilst practically blind as he covered his eyes to give her adequete privacy, he had moved them out of the alley as quickly as possible. Before leaving their makeshift shelter he checked the bandage on her hand, where he was pleased to see that the wound had stopped bleeding and thankfully didn't look infected, then covered it in another, looser wrap. He tossed her soiled, worthless gown into one of the restaurants huge, metal trash cans and pulled one of his own spare shirts from one of his deep pant pockets. It was so large it draped like a dirty, baggy dress from her shoulders and reached down below her knees. He had to tie a spare scarf he had firmly around her flat chest to prevent it from falling right off her tiny frame, tying the knot awkwardly under her wings, which gave him an opportunity to touch and manipulate the limbs. He took the time to marvel at the clean, natural way they melded seamlessly into her back, lifting the light, airy down that covered them to show where the muscle connected to her shoulders. That ruled out his theory that they had been stitched on. Seamus frowned as she looked up at him with obvious discomfort, the scarf not allowing her wings to fold back into their normal position properly. Her befuddled face looked even smaller in the shirts vast neck hole.

There were other things off about her, he noted them as he helped the child dress. Her back muscles were unusually shaped when tensed, possibly holding more than an average human should but it wasn't too noticeable when covered up and the flesh remained smooth when relaxed. He was shocked into bewildered silence, upon moving to fix up the front of the shirt, where it dipped so low it exposed her chest, to find that the child had no nipples and no breasts. While it wasn't unusual by any means for a girl around her age to have not developed breasts yet, the lack of any kind of mammary organ was cause for concern. Instead, he found that she had tough, sinewy pectoral muscles in place of the breasts a normal young woman would have, and she had more than one set. She had two, a smaller pair of the powerful muscles tucked beneath the far larger first pair and melding down smoothly into her flat belly. Not really comprehending his actions, he reached a hand up to trace a finger over the firm flesh. The girl giggled and squirmed away from his touch, wings flaring beneath the fabric and causing the muscles to ripple as they tensed, moving the limbs on her back.

"By God, you've got more damn muscles than me," he breathed. She grinned and reached up to press at his own chest. He let her for a few moments before gently grabbing her arms and pushing her to stand up straight as he looked over his handywork.

"I suppose that'll have to do for now," he huffed, Anna swung her arms and keened softly, the long sleeves of the shirt flailing uselessly in the crisp morning air. She laughed and thrashed them harder. He shook his head in bemusement.

It didn't take long to walk to the donation box and he perused the contents while Anna squinted and picked at the peeling, sky-blue paint. There were a multitude of the small, steel boxes scattered across the city, and in the past Seamus had been able to acquire a decent haul from them. Finding anything that could comfortably fit a five-year old girl whilst hiding a pair of growing wings was possibly one of his hardest assignments since he'd been in the war. Every article was too large or, to his shock, too small, hanging off her body in great drapes or hugging her tight enough for her extra limbs to show blatantly and he blanched in disgust at the underwear that had been thrown in. She would just have to make do without for now. He finally found a compromise with a white blouse that was only slightly too large, but otherwise fit her well, a pair of brown pants that were probably meant to be worn by a young boy and an airy, floral-decorated shawl that still smelt faintly of sweet, summer perfume. Anna seemed to like it immediately. He tied it securely across her shoulders, replacing his own worn scarf and smiled when she twittered happily, apparently it was far more comfortable for her as well.

"Alright little bird, calm yourself now," he was pleased when she did so almost immediately, "plan for today, stock up on food, water and any other necessities when we can, if your going to travel with me we're going to need more stuff, God knows that'll be fun in winter."

She tilted her head. Seamus found his expression settling back into that familiar frown.

"I think, and I have no idea where to begin, but I'm going to have to try and teach you to talk as well."

Her expression didn't change and the wizened man figured they could start while they moved. Stuffing the remaining donations back into the box, he briskly plotted the quickest and quietest route to one of the smaller, public markets where they could, with luck, pilfer some breakfast. The years in the war and on the streets had gifted him with sly hands and keen eyes. It would be interesting to see if he could teach such skills to his newly acquired charge. Assuming her true parents didn't come back for her. He gave an involuntary shudder at that thought, not only was he soon to be guilty of having to taint such an innocent youth with thievery, he already felt a surge of agitation at the thought of her being taken from him. Seamus fought to dislodge the feelings from his chest, he wouldn't keep a family seperated if the parents returned for their child.

"Come on then, we're wasting daylight" he began to move off, the tiny blonde babbling and scrambling to stay at his side.

Still, he couldn't help a pang of fear at the thought of the child's parents returning. He wondered if they were like her, with wings sprouting from their backs.

"Like angels…" he murmured, more to himself than to the child beside him, though she craned her head to look at him.

The mere thought terrified him.

"Time to start your lessons."

Anna trilled in reply.

"Right, my name is Seamus, we'll worry about last names later."

He repeated his name several times, slowing his voice and carefully articulating each syllable. Eyes wide in wonderment, she made crude attempts to imitate the word, but only succeeded in recreating the 'sh' sound at the beginning. He patiently gestured to his mouth, where he recreated the 'sh' sound, then the 'ae' sound, pausing and over-acting the mouth movements and the position of his tongue as he made the sound. A thrill of pride traveled through him, and he couldn't help feeling surprised at that, as she copied him and, after a number of distorted, whistling tries, succeeded in making a soft 'ae' sound. He applauded and smiled, turning down another alley to avoid a shady looking man leaning against the grimy wall ahead. Anna giggled, repeating the noise with more confidence and skipping beside him.

"Very well done, let's see if we can get that last bit now."

It took the remainder of the walk, but by the time the two had reached the market place Anna could pronounce his name well enough, she struggled with the transition between the 'sh' sound and the 'ae' sound which caused her to pronounce his name as 'Saymus' occasionally, and had mastered the first half of her own name. She spent the remainder of the time excitedly repeating the new words to herself. Her first words. Seamus found himself once again wondering how it was she couldn't already speak, none of the possible answers were particularly appealing. He was drawn from his thoughts at the sound of various voices ahead, their destination was in sight. The sunny, open street was already alive and humming with activity, street vendors and stall owners hurrying to set up their shops, arranging their produce and wares for the attentive eyes of their bustling patrons. As he had expected, the market was relatively quiet this early in the day, the small crowds that littered the plaza were calm compared to the tide of people that swarmed around 10 o'clock. He checked his battered, leather wristwatch, 7:46. Anna meanwhile surveyed the area, balked, and attached herself to his left leg in a tight embrace, her previous joy at the concept of names completely forgotten. He rubbed the sharp curve of her shoulder comfortingly, his dull, storm like eyes raking over the street until they paused on a bright fruit stall.

Patting her gently and quickly checking to make sure her wings were still covered, he ambled towards it, keeping carefully out of sight in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Most were too focused on their own business to notice him or his small charge. Anna remained firmly pressed against his leg. He stopped behind the fruit stand, glancing about to make sure he wasn't seen while the tiny blonde craned her neck to see what was over the crates of brilliantly coloured fruits and vegetables. She gaped at the vivid colours, cautiously reaching a hand out to touch them. Seamus gently stopped her.

"Thomas? Thomas are you there lad?"

A plump, tanned man snapped upright from where he had been leaning over the front displays. His eyes darted about until they met his and a large smile blossomed across his face, causing his thick, dark mustache to undulate like a caterpillar.

"Seamus, my friend, it's been a while," his boisterous laugh resonated off the brick and stone to blend with the cadence of voices and echoes filling the blocked off street with the sweet sound of civilisation, "I almost began to worry about you."

Seamus laughed, scarred lips drawing up into a grizzled but warm smile.

"It'll take far more than you're crummy streets to kill me, Mulligan, honestly man, have some faith."

"It ain't so much the streets I worry about, the winter's been gettin' colder, I'm sure you'd've noticed."

"Mm, I have, still nothing compared to a good english snow."

"I swear, one day the cold's gonna be the death o' you," he said, shaking his head.

"Well 'till then I got bigger things to worry about."

Anna decided at that moment that the strange new man was no longer intimidating and, with Seamus distracted, took the opportunity to jump on top of a small fruit crate and promptly squeeled excitedly at him. Thomas' mouth fell open, eyes widening and nose twitching in shock. Seamus turned to scold her but she had turned to him now, eyes wide and innocent.

"Seamus, Anna, Seamus," she cried.

He grimaced, he was going to have to teach her the basics of english very soon. Thomas was silent for several, long seconds, even as she reached to pick up an orange, cooing and eyeing it in confused fascination.

"Seamus, is that-where on earth did you get a child?"

"You can't tell anyone Tom," he said, sharper than he had meant, "I found her, she was barely alive and half naked out behind Roosevelt's."

A look of disgust passed over the man's face as he looked the small blonde over with a careful eye, frown deepening when he noted her bandaged hand and bruised face.

"What happened to 'er?"

"I don't know," Seamus lowered his voice while Thomas gestured to a confused looking young hand to take over the stall front while he talked, "I don't know where she came from, I don't know where her parents are, hell I don't even know if she has parents."

"Well of course she has parents, she had to come from somewhere."

"She couldn't even speak when I found her, not one single word, what kind of parents don't teach their child to talk?"

The man cast his eyes down, one large hand coming up to stroke his heavy brow. The flock of the market continued around them, much to the subject of their attentions delight, who was mesmerised by the bustling bodies and cacophonous voices.

"I taught her my name and hers, s'all I've got for now," the veteran continued, eyes focused on the child.

"An' just how exactly do you know 'er name if she can't speak?"

Seamus hummed, gently prying the orange from Anna's small hand and replacing it on the stand as she keened in protest.

"Well I couldn't just keep calling her 'girl', could I?" His voice had taken on a bitter edge.

Thomas face was pulled down in a deep frown, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

"You can't keep 'er Seamus, she can't live on the streets, she'll never make it through the winter-"

"Then what can I do?" Seamus suddenly bellowed, causing Anna to cringe away in fright, mentally berating himself, he forced himself to count to 5 in his head, calming the sudden explosion of anger and taking a breath, he started again.

"Sorry, Thomas, but I can't just give her in," he paused to reach a gentle hand slowly to the trembling girl, who looked up at him with fearful, tear-filled eyes, she froze as he approached, but at sighting his apologetic, reassuring smile, she took his much larger hand in both of hers, hugging it tightly. "You don't get it, the authorities won't do shit to find her parents, not that I really think that's an option given the circumstances, they'll just load her on to one of them orphan trains and dump her in the middle of nowhere."

If they don't haul her off to take her apart first, he thought darkly to himself. He could already imagine the headlines, "Living Angel Discovered In New York: Scholars Now Working To Discover How It Works". He repressed a shudder of disgust. No, he couldn't let that happen, not while he was alive.

"But you're homeless, Seamus, do you 'ave any idea how much work a child is? You won't be able to feed 'er, to clothe 'er, let alone shelter 'er."

Seamus knew he was right, he couldn't offer her anything really, but with her secret there was really nothing else he could do. At least not yet.

"I know, I need to listen around, find out if anyone's kids gone missing," he looked down to see Anna was playing with the fabric of her shawl, lifting it to smell the lingering scents on the material and smiling, "I know it's a long shot, but I don't see much else I can do that I trust."

Thomas sighed, knowing there was no way he could convince the stubborn old veteran otherwise. He grabbed a paper bag and briskly began to fill it with apples and oranges.

"I don't approve of this, and if I find out you ain't treatin' 'er right I'll be on your back before you know it," he eyed him hard. Seamus smirked back.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

The man sighed again, folding up the top of the bag and offering it to the scarred man.

"That'll get you through the rest of the week if you're careful," his eyes hardened as Seamus took the food with a grateful smile, "but I mean it, Pommy, you look for her parents or someplace else that'll take 'er, the streets ain't no place for a kid."

"I will Thomas, I owe you," Seamus shook the darker man's hand firmly before tapping Anna's shoulder and turning to shuffle up the street.

The blonde shot Thomas a huge grin and a happy coo before whipping around to skip after the older man. Thomas watched them until they turned off the crowded plaza into a smaller street, off to God knew where. He was hit by a wave of guilt at the sudden thought that he had let a tiny girl leave with the war-torn man. He trusted Seamus, didn't believe half of the rumours that viciously circulated through the street, but even so, a child alone with a man as scarred as him was bound to lead to troubles. He shook his head, turning to return to the front of the stall, and his worries were quickly replaced with the rapid hum of the market place.

**Comments are extremely appreciated. Thanks for reading;)**


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